The Nettle and the Knight
by lostinthewords16
Summary: Spurned by Marion, despised by Nottingham and humiliated by Robin Hood, Guy of Gisborne is only reassured by the powers promised by the Black Knights. But when a woman whose hatred of him outstrips those before her, Guy is strangely intrigued. Is there another route out of his misery? Rated T for the themes, set during season two.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fanfic- so yeah, I'm pretty nervous. Also I'm pretty useless with technology at times, it took me over an hour to get this uploaded... (Go figure)

ANYWAY this does take place during season two, but I reckon it'll be between episode 1 and 2... I'm aware that the time frame of this fanfic will probably be a bit longer than what it was intented to be but hey, they don't mention how much time has passed! Yep, it's rated **T **cause of the themes, as mentioned etc. I actually don't have any images (apologies) but I wrote/uploaded this on my tablet which doesn't allow me for some reason. Sorry! :(

ANYWAY I hope you enjoy :)

**Disclaimer:** I only own Henry (who I call Nettleden, you'll see below and stuff) and Elizabeth.

* * *

**Chapter One - Honoured Guests**

The castle courtyard was in a flurry of activity. The sherrif's standard was being hastily raised, servants skidded across the ground with brooms, kitchen maids darted about with baskets of food under their arms. At the centre of it all was Vaisey, barking orders like a feral dog.

"Get on with it! In this century, that would be preferable! Why do I employ idiots? Gisborne! GISBORNE!"

From the shadows emerged an equally shadowy man. From the crown of his head to the tip of his toes he dressed entirely in black, which contrasted with his pale pallor. His blue eyes were alert, and although his hand appeared to be relaxed on the hilt of his sword, a closer look would reveal it was ready to draw at a moments notice. This all contributed to the unmistakable message: this was not a man to cross.

"I heard you called for me, my lord," he drawled.

Vaisey's nostrils flared,but Gisborne seemed to be unfazed by these signs of obvious anger.

"It is yet again down to your incompetence that we are in this mess. Yet again I am left to pick up the pieces of your failings. Do you think I enjoy it? A clue: no," Vaisey snapped, jabbing his finger roughly into Gisborne's chest. Gisborne looked away to conceal his exasperation, before turning back, a faint, smug smile etched on his face.

"Forgive me, my lord, but my duties seem not to cover arranging entertainments for our most honoured guest. However, next time, my lord, I will be more careful to remind you beforehand."

At this, Vaisey exploded. The stress of being the Sheriff of Nottingham never usually pursued him, but today there seemed to be an exception

"But it is in your duties to capture Hood! How many times has he wandered through those gates and back out again without a single reprocussion?" He snarled, causing several guards and servants to back away as far as they could in alarm. Fortunately, at that moment a messenger appeared, preventing Vaisey causing any physical damage to Gisborne.

"My lord! The Earl of Hertford is here at hand! He comes presently into Nottingham castle!"

Vaisey turned and glared at Gisborne, but then viciously turned on his heel and headed towards the steps. Gisborne, after pausing a moment, followed him, releasing his grip on his sword.

"You'll like our most honoured guest, Gisborne." mused the sheriff, rocking backwards and fowards on his toes as they waited on the steps. "I believe that you two will get on, shall we say, like a house on fire?"

Gisborne's features hardened, and involuntarily glanced at the sheriff, before clenching his jaw and turning his face away.

"Of course, that will probably be because you have actually set houses on fire, isn't it?" continued Vaisey, in a casual manner, but fully aware that his words inflicted sharply into Gisborne. "Ah look, he has arrived."

The sheriff nodded at the small procession now entering the castle. A coat of arms fluttered slightly in the breeze, of a red tree on a blue background. A large, luxurious carriage stopped in front of the stone steps. From the inside a deep voice was barking orders, and haggered looking men rushed to open the door. As it creeped open, Gisborne took a small step forward, slightly curious. Their guest had come with a large retinue of men, which seemed to not only comprise of soldiers, but of personal servants too. Large chests, heavily padlocked so not even the smallest ant could crawl in, were treated with as much respect as their owner. Gisborne usually despised people, who usually despised him back, but he was almost impressed by this enigmatic guest.

The door opened, and out stepped the Earl of Hertford. It was a wonder how he managed to fit through the door, for he was wonderously fat. Five chins wobbled under his thin mouth, and he seemed to have a habit of licking his lips, as though he could smell roasting pork. His eyes were small and darted about, resting on one person, assesing, and then quickly moving on. His clothes stretched over his stomach, barely keeping it within, but everyone took in the rich embroidery and expensive fur that edged his cloak. He must have previously been a powerful man, for his arms appeared look like a pair of strong tree trunks. He spotted Vaisey and heaved himself up the steps, with a large grin on his face.

"Vaisey!" he boomed, opening his arms. Vaisey reflected his gesture, and for a moment it seem he would be lost in the folds of the Earl's embrace.

"Our most honoured guest, Henry of Nettleden, Earl of Hertford." annouced the sheriff once he had been released from the near suffocating greeting.

"I was concerned to hear that there is still a problem of this so called Robin Hood, Vaisey," commented Nettleden, "I would have expected you to have surpressed him by now. The Prince, as you know , is most displeased, and is not likley to be tolerant much longer of your excuses."

Vaisey's smile faltered, and Gisborne clenched his fist. Then, quite unexpectedly, Nettleden laughed, his fat quaking and rippling under his clothes. Vaisey began to laugh as well, his rotting teeth bared for all

to see. Gisborne, like many others around him, were torn between confusion and amusemet at Nettleden's ridiculous laugh. Vaisey spotted Gisborne, and turned the guest towards Gisborne to intoduce him.

"Ah yes, let me introduce Sir Guy of Gisborne."

Gisborne nodded curtly. "Welcome, my lord."

Nettleden observed Gisborne longer than any other so far, his tiny eyes darting all over his face. He appeared (to Gisborne anyway) to be calculating - but what this was was unknown. Nettleden breathed out heavily through his nose, before glancing over his shoulder. Gisborne attempted to follow his gaze, but he had already turned back to Vaisey. He then showed one of his sausage like fingers to the sheriff, but before anyone could see what was one his finger he had hidden his hand underneath his vast cloak. Nettleden's eyes darted over the scene below, before bellowing:

"Elizabeth! Here! Now!"

From amongst the crowd below a hooded woman emerged, climbing the stone steps slowly and carefully. The hood of her cloak obscured her face, but Gisborne assumed this was Nettleden's wife. For a moment, he wondered how Nettleden managed to even secure a wife, but them reminded himself, judging by his apparent wealth, she was probably a shallow, ignorant woman, likely after his money to obtain some pretty dress. The figure stopped just a few steps below Vaisey, and lowered her hood.

"My daughter, Lady Elizabeth." grunted Nettleden shortly.

Gisborne was even more intrigued that this man had even managed to produce offspring. The Lady Elizabeth curtsied silently at Vaisey, whose eyes flicked over her face, before moving down to her breasts and hips. She had an expression of indifference on her face, as though it made no difference to whom she was greeting- it could have been the filthiest, foulest peasant or the very King himself. Nettleden suddenly pulled her ear to his mouth, his tiny eyes bulging with anger, his face swelling with red rage.

"You stupid girl," he hissed, spit flying onto her face, "Don't you know who that is? _Sir Guy of Gisborne!_ I knew you would damage this, you're just as irksome as your mother."

Elizabeth turned to face Gisborne, as curtsied as though her father had never interfered at all, droplets of spit still splattered on her cheek. But he noted that as she turned, her eyes rolled, seen by no one but himself. He features darkened, angry at the lack of respect this woman had for he father, and by further extension, himself.

"Forgive me, my lord," she said tonelessly. Her eyes looked fearlessly into his. Perhaps it was their deep, rich blue colour, but it seemed that the woman's eyes were at work, carefully assessing him, in contrast to her indifferent face. Out of the corner of his eye, Gisborne saw Nettleden swell, and Elizabeth grudgingly extended her hand to him. Clenching his jaw, he lifted it to his mouth. Then suddenly, she gave a small gasp, as though in pain, and withdrew her hand. He looked curiously at her, but she merely gave him a cold, scathing look and joined her father's side.

"Now," said Nettleden loudly, rubbing his hands together gleefully and completely ignoring his daughter's presence, "I hope you have laid on a magnificent feast in honour of me, Vaisey. The journey has made me ravenous."

"Only the best wine," replied Vaisey, gesturing for Nettleden to follow him into the castle, "And the best meat. I'm afraid the company is not much. Gisborne is usually always sulking over something."

Nettleden waved his pudgy hand. "I care little for it. Food and wine is all I need at the moment." His entire body seemed to quiver at the prospect of a feast. "My daughter's not much either. Ignorant. Women never really have much worth to say anyway, so I don't care. It's what you do with them is what counts, eh Vaisey?"

Elizabeth turned away in disgust as her father loudly boasted about his previous supposed conquests. Gisborne found himself walking alongside her, the clinking of his boots breaking the silence between them. She seemed to be purposefully ignoring him, which provoked deeper dislike of her. Yet, something about her intrigued him. He wasn't sure what it was- all he could think of were those deep blue eyes looking into his. Perhaps it was the incident with her hand. Gisborne decides this was it, but he knew inside this was not the real answer.

"Is is far, from Nettleden?" he inquired. Elizabeth turned to him, apparently annoyed at being disturped.

"Far enough," was all she replied.

"I am the sheriff's most trusted lieutenant," Perhaps, reasoned Gisborne, if the woman knew his importance, then she would have a little more respect, "I own the estate of Locksley."

Elizabeth snorted. Gisborne curled one hand around the hilt of his sword and the other into a fist.

"Locksley? I believed you were Guy of Gisborne. Where is that supposed great estate?" Elizabeth said scathingly.

At this, Gisborne seized her arm and pulled her face threateningly close to his. Anger shot through his veins, and he knew that he could curl one hand around her throat and strangle her.

"You know _nothing_," he spat, "You are fortunate that I show you leniency." He roughly let her go, but noticed she was barely fazed by his threat. Her eyes carefully assessed him once more, before she turned and swept away. Gisborne glared at those around him, who were looking at him in various guises of horror. He stormed back outside and kicked a barrel hard, causing it to fall and smash into hundreds of splinters. Now not only did he have to flatter and entertain an overweight, greedy fool, but he had to be in the same castle of an obnoxious, disrespectful girl. But he knew he would have to put up with it, for his reward would be power. More power than anyone could ever dream he could have. Then no one would question him. Not even _her. _


	2. Chapter 2

Firstly- MASSIVE APOLOGIES on the spelling mistakes on chapter 1, I uploaded it last night and clearly my proof reading is not exactly the best at 1am. The chapters are generally quite short, but hopefully I'll be uploading a few times a week (note the word 'hopefully' in that sentence). Was saving this chapter for a couple of days time.. but, hey, real life is too boring :)

Thanks and enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter Two- Bandages**

Marion felt as though she couldn't breathe. The castle had restrained her, and she longed to be in the open air once more. But her father needed her, as she had made clear to Robin. Her lips curved slightly as she remembered those precious moments in the cave. But then her sensible mind reminded her of the circumstances that got her there, and the slight smile disappeared.

"This is it, m'lady."

Marion snapped out of her thoughts. The guard had brought her to the door of Lady Elizabeth of Nettleden, who, due to father feeling faint that morning, she had not yet met. But her curosities were stirred, for the servants whispered of her defiance towards Gisborne, that she did not crumble when he threatened her. Such a person that would be fascinating to meet.

Marion knocked softly, cautiously on the door, holding her breath.

"Come in," came the voice from within, along with noises that heard like someone trying to quickly conceal something.

Marion pushed open the door and entered, not knowing what to expect. What greeted her eyes was a young woman, hastily stuffing strips of white cloth into a chest. Marion's eyes widened in awe of her wine red dress, taking in every detail of stitching and embroidery. She thought of how many families could eat for months off the proceeds of that outfit, and how this woman would never even comprehend their struggles, how far removed from the poor she must be. Lady Elizabeth's expression was one of embarrassment, and as her eyes flicked over Marion, she felt she was being cross-examined, likely on her pitiful dress in comparison to hers.

"Forgive me, Lady Elizabeth," she began, "I did not mean to intrude. It's just we were not introduced at your arrival, and I was curious to meet you." She held her breath once more, waiting for her reply. To her surprise, Elizabeth smiled gratefully.

"I am honoured, truly. I did not expect anyone to even think of me. I am very humbled, Lady Marion." Elizabeth curtised, somewhat formally, and Marion was about to express her amazement at her knowing her name when Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and gestured to the guard standing right behind her.

"Is he necessary?"

Marion was unsure on how to reply. Elizabeth already knew her name, did she already know of her house arrest? Torn between uncertainties, Elizabeth solved the problem for her.

"You may leave," she addressed the guard in a clear, authoritive voice, "We will send for a man to escort the Lady Marion back to her rooms when she desires." Elizabeth walked straight up to the guard and slipped some coins into his hand. "Do you understand?"

The guard bowed before her, a gleeful grin smacked onto his face. "Certainly, m'lady." He exited, and the moment the door clicked shut Elizabeth gave a great sigh of relief, and relaxed. She smiled encouragingly at Marion, who could not help but return it. It reminded her somewhat of a playful monkey she had once seen.

"Lady Elizabeth, I-"

Elizabeth waved her hand and laughed. "Please, do call me Elizabeth. It sounds rather decadent to be called 'Lady' every day. It does get rather exasperating." She then glanced anxiously at Marion, hesitating slightly before asking:

"May I call you Marion? Only when we're alone, of course." she added hastily, and Marion smiled and took Elizabeth's hands in her own.

"Yes, why wouldn't I?" Marion then noticed Elizabeth was wincing as though in pain, and looked down at her hands. One of them was bandaged, but badly, and she realised why she was attempting to stuff away the strips of cloth. Her wrist appeared to be unnaturally swollen, which Marion recognised instantly as a sprain.

"You're hurt," she said, frowning in concern as she examined the injury closer, "I'll send for the physician-"

"NO!" Elizabeth withdrew her hand sharply, her voice equally so, before she realised how harsh she sounded, "No, I... It is fine, Marion. I have no need for the physician. I do not wish to trouble anyone." Elizabeth backed away quickly, cradling her hand, looking around as though to check no one heard them.

Marion closed the gap between them. "I won't call the physician. Just please at least let me re-bandage it for you," she said gently, extending her hand, "I am no physician, but I know a little. Please."

Elizabeth hesitated, then held out her hand. "Thank you." she whispered.

Marion did not dare ask how she obtained the injury. As she silently re-bandaged, she remembered the way Elizabeth's eyes had widened in panic at her suggestion, and how she had so hastily retreated, as though Marion carried the plague. She now felt those deep blue eyes watching her carefully, making her self conscious. It was almost unnerving, so she tried her best to keep her eyes focused on Elizabeth's hand.

"You have lost something, have you not?"

Marion started. The statement seemed to appear from seemingly nowhere, but what alarmed her was the accuracy. She remembered how Elizabeth knew her name before she had introduced herself, and she couldn't help but look up into intense blue eyes.

"Yes," she eventually replied, her mind confused. She swallowed before enquiring:

"How did you know?"

Elizabeth slightly averted Marion's eyes, which made her suspcious that she wasn't quite telling the truth.

"I can... I can see that you are sad. It was a guess." she muttered quickly, before clearing her throat, and looking down at her partially bandaged hand. Marion felt them shake slightly, become clammy in her own. It was best, she decided, for the moment not to persue the matter, despite the fact that hundreds of questions had now exploded within her heart.

"You are right. Sir Guy of Gisborne burnt down my father's house." Marion smiled sadly at Elizabeth's look of horror. "I now cannot leave this place. There, done" She neatly tied off the cloth. Elizabeth leapt up and paced the room, disgust etched on her face.

"He is a vile, despicable man." Her voice was seething with anger, and she looked ready to punch something, "Arrogant. I dislike him very much." She whirled around to face Marion. "His reasons? Assuming he had any?" Elizabeth spat, her eyes alive with passion.

Marion carefully placed a calming hand on her arm. She chose her words carefully, not wanting to stoke the fire in Elizabeth's heart.

"Elizabeth, Sir Guy is not a man to have an emnity with. I should know that. He hates me now, after what I did to him. I shouldn't have been surprised when he burnt down my home."

Elizabeth looked up quizzically, but did not say anything. Marion felt obliged that she should continue- she suspected that Elizabeth would have found out in some way without her.

"I promised to marry him, but I..." her voice trailed off, but she shook her head. Now was not a time to loose courage. "I left him. At the altar." She glanced sideways at Elizabeth, who had a look of pity. Her eyes again were calculating, assessing. "And for good measure, I punched him in the face."

There was a slight pause, before Elizabeth's face crunched up into that monkey grin, and began to laugh. It was infectious, for the urge to join in tickled Marion, before engulfing her whole. She discovered, for the first time, she was able to laugh at the entire situation. Her first impressions of Elizabeth were completely wrong. This was not a haughty, proud noble, but a warm, eager young woman. And yet, there was so much about her Marion did not understand, or perhaps Elizabeth did not allow or want her to understand. When she left Elizabeth's rooms later, she found her curiosity of this guest more so than when she entered.


	3. Chapter 3

This will probably be my last upload for at least a week, because I am UNBELIEVABLY busy over the next week or so, but I thought if I get this chapter done before then it won't look like I'm neglecting it. Anyway, I was looking forward to writing this chapter, but I'm not so sure on the ending... What do you think?

Enjoy! :)

* * *

**Chapter Three- Hostile Encounters**

Gisborne observed the feasting before him with a look of disgust on his face. He held a deep loathing for such gatherings, heightened lately for Marion's public rejecton of himself. Had he not offered her protection, comfort, position? Gisborne's grip on his goblet tightened as he remembered every painful detail of that day, every humiliating second, every gloat that the sheriff had laid on him for countless days afterwards. _Lepers. _As much as it annoyed him to admit it, Vaisey was right. Women were parasites, draining the life force of men with their superficial ways, blocking the way to his ambitions. His road to them was now clear. Perhaps the rejection had its benefits after all.

Gisborne drained his goblet and motioned for another. He saw Nettleden, already red in the face from his consumption of wine, leer after a petrified looking serving girl, his tiny eyes popping with excitement. _At least I manage to exercise some discretion with my dealings with the female sex_, he thought savagely, as he watched the girl desperately run away to the sound of roaring laughter. The more he knew Nettleden, the less he liked him, perhaps not helped by his meeting of Nettleden's daughter. Gisborne's eyes travelled a few feet along, where Lady Elizabeth sat stiffly, staring intently at a spot on the opposite wall, as though a particular brick fascinated her. Gisborne observed her coldly, somehow unable to remove his eyes. What was it about her that was so damnably intriguing? A pair of intense blue eyes swam before him, and his shook himself angrily. He would not interact with her unless absolutely necessary until she left, and then she would be gone forever. It would be doing her a favour too, he smugly added, considering how much she appeared to loath him. Not that he was not used to being loathed.

Suddenly a pair of hands grasped his shoulders from behind, jolting Gisborne from his solitude. He reached immediately for his sword, but then a silky voice whispered in his ear.

"Not enjoying the festivities, Gisborne?"

Of course. Vaisey. He slunk down in his chair and glared at the wine jug. Vaisey tutted, in a mock disapproval manner.

"No, Gisborne? You must smile, laugh. Make our guest feel welcome." Vaisey placed his chin on Gisborne's shoulder, and he could feel the whiskers on the sheriff's beard tickle his ear. "The man's a fool, but do you also know what he is, Gisborne, hm?"

Gisborne sighed, and glanced back at Nettleden, who was now stuffing his face full of meat, drips of grease making their way slowly over his five enormous chins. Gisborne was in no mood to play one of the sheriffs games, so he did not supply him with an answer. Vaisey grinned maliciously, and lowered his voice further.

"_Rich._" The word seemed to have such importance to Vaisey, he appeared to savour it, tasting it and letting it roll around his mouth. "So," he continued, "We will accommodate the fat fool and his wench for a daughter for all it is worth."

Vaisey patted Gisborne's shoulder patronisingly, and walked away, whistling cheerfully. Gisborne had guessed the sheriff's plans, and despite the reward, the process of them did not fill him with mountains of joy. He instead refilled his goblet, about to raise it to his mouth before movement from the corner of his eye distracted him. The fool's daughter was subtlely edging around the hall, shifting her gaze to ensure no-one spotted her apparent bid at an escape. As she passed the large fireplace, the light caught her hair, giving it a remarkably delightful reddish sheen. It was a moment before Gisborne found his mouth hanging open slightly, the goblet in his hand paused halfway. He slammed it furiously down on the table, its contents sloshing everywhere, cursing under his breath. Everything he desired was within reach, and he was allowing himself the distraction of a pretty woman? No, she isn't even half as pretty as the filthiest, poorest, most disease ridden peasant on this earth. Her face was too square, her skin was uneven, her teeth (he was sure) were probably crooked and broken. And, furthermore, he convinced himself, she was likely to swell in size within the year, either through inheriting her father's ways of gluttony or through the likelihood of her being the great whore of Nettleden. He sipped what was left of his wine, smiling smugly. How satisfying it would be for the proud, noble Lady Elizabeth to be proclaimed a wanton, a harlot, a strumpet. The only problem would be, naturally, solid proof to support the accusation, but, (and here the smug smile grew dark and dangerous) that could so easily be arranged. A few guards, perhaps her father too to sweeten the scene... She might protest, but who would be the most convincing? A weak woman, whose sex was renowed for lying and deceit? Or himself, the respectable, honourable Sir Guy of Gisborne, and to his delight Elizabeth would be forced to fling herself down in the dirt and scum where she belonged. That would teach her to revere him.

"Not so pretty anymore," he muttered under his breath, as she finally reach the door and retreated quickly. To anyone watching (Gisborne forced himself to believe he was not the only one) the whole escapade was laughable, bordering on the ridiculous. To watch her would also be an eyesore, his thoughts began, before those intense blue eyes danced back into his vision. When he had held her arm earlier, he felt as though he was being scrutinised, as though his mind was being examined. He then remembered her reaction when he took her hand- a little, unexpected gasp of pain. Was his mere touch really that awful?

Abrubtly, a burst of music pierced his musings. Gisborne shook himself violently, again. Perhaps he had had too much wine- therefore his mind would not be thinking right. The wine had made him foolish- obviously that was it, he reassured himself, purposefully ignoring the fact that that evening's consumption was in fact nowhere near the amount that usually caused him to act 'foolishly'. Additionally, the striking up of music signalled his cue to leave- he doubted he could bear much longer in the company of Nettleden. He straightened, taking one last look at the guest, who now had several stains down his finery, and running his meaty hand over the backside of a far more obliging serving girl. Vaisey sat next to him, talking quickly and quietly, whilst Nettleden occasionally nodded mutely. Gisborne smirked to himself, knowing that by the next morning, their guest would be considerably poorer.

Gisborne snapped at a passing guard for someone to saddle his horse, and strode towards an open window. The cool night breeze ruffled his dark hair, allowing himself for once to relax. It was quiet here- no Vaisey barking orders or insults at him, no pathetic peasant crawling at his feet, no Hood to humiliate him. Robin Hood. Gisborne's hand curled slightly into a fist, but so did the corners of his mouth. If only Hood knew he now held the upper hand, if only Hood knew how easy it was to corrupt one of his trusted men, and how he would gloat if he had the chance. Of course, this would unearth his plans, but he could dream, couldn't he? He pictured the look on his enemies face, one of devastating betrayal and-

Footsteps. Light, quick footsteps echoed from further down the corridor. Gisborne immediately backed into the shadows, his heart pounding. Those were not the footsteps of a castle guard. No one except castle guards were around this part of the castle at this time of night. He listened intensely. No other sounds came. Stealthily, he crept down the corridor, his hand hovering above the hilt of his sword. He half hoped, half dreaded that it would be one of the outlaws. He neared the end of the dark corridor, widening his eyes so as to see better. Then, unexpectedly, a cold, sharp object came into contact with his throat.

"Do not move." came to icy voice of Lady Elizabeth.

She emerged from the shadows, her hand outstretched, holding a slim dagger. Hatred and loathing danced in her eyes, as she circled around him, not removing her weapon. He was much taller than she was, but even he felt slightly threatened by her menacing knife.

"Why do you follow me?" she hissed, and he noted that she was holding the dagger somewhat awkwardly in her left hand. He raised his eyebrows, and curled his lip.

"I didn't follow you. You are forbidden to even be here." he replied savagely. Elizabeth snorted in disbelief, and his expression hardened.

"You watched me leave. You are now here." Her eyes were studying him once again, but he rose above the temptation to look into them.

"A misunderstanding, I assure you." He felt her hand slacken, and he pushed away the dagger. The pitch of his voice lowered to a growl. "Why do you carry a weapon?"

"Why do you?" She retorted, turning her back to him and was about to walk away when he prevented her by grabbing her arm. He smirked down at her.

"It could be seen as an attack on the sheriff, do you know that?" he whispered threateningly, tightening his grip. Elizabeth's lips were firmly pressed together, and refused to look at him. "Would be a shame to see that..." He was about to say lovely neck, but remembered he had decided she was nowhere near an acceptable beauty. "...that neck of yours in a noose, wouldn't it?"

At this, Elizabeth turned roughly around, causing him to lose his firm grip on her arm. She was quaking, but Gisborne was unsure whether it was fear or anger. He hoped it was the former.

"Sir," she began, her teeth gritted, and Gisborne saw that they were devastatingly straight, "spare your threats. I am unmoved by them when others would be. I have not been in your company long but I despise you. You are the perfect embodiment of everything that I hate in this world."

Gisborne's blood boiled. How could one weak woman cause him so much fury he didn't know, but what he did know was the feelings between them were mutual. "It is indeed a hasty conclusion. You don't know anything about me." He snarled.

"Oh, believe me when I say that I do, more than you could ever hope to understand."

"Really? Will you always despise me, or can I persuade you to change your mind?"

The words had slipped out of his mouth before his mind could stop him. Now it sounded like he liked her in some fashion, or at least wanted to know her better. Had he not sworn to himself that he would never speak to her? Why hadn't he just turned and left her alone the moment he saw her? Elizabeth, who was initially slightly taken aback by his words, glared at him, her features hardening, and she walked right up to him, her eyes inches from his, both dancing with a passion of hate.

"_Sans cesse et sans raison._" she hissed.

It was now Gisborne's turn to be taken aback, unsure how to reply. Fortunately, at that moment a castle guard appeared.

"M'lord, your horse is- oh, pardon me m'lord." The guard saw Gisborne and Elizabeth inches from each others faces, and began to withdraw apologetically, likely thinking he had interrupted a sentimental moment.

"I'm coming." Gisborne spat, turning on his heel and storming away from Elizabeth. He paused at the guard, fury pulsing in his heart. "Get _her,_" he jerked his head sharply towards Elizabeth, "to her rooms. She doesn't leave."

"Y-yes, m'lord." stammered the guard, terrified at what Gisborne would do if he disobeyed even slightly. Gisborne did not look back to check whether his orders would be followed, as he had already mounted his horse and had galloped out the gates. Ignorant, disrespectful, woman! He hurtled insult after insult at her, riding as hard and as fast as he could, before he felt his horse slow. He reigned the animal in, slowing down to a walk. Her words stuck in his mind like mud and slime. The perfect embodiment of everything she hated? Barely anyone had insulted him thus since his younger, more vunerable days, when he had nothing to his name and nothing to aim at, living in some godforsaken corner of France. She certainly had spirit to say that to him, he granted her that.

Locksley emerged from the gloom of night. What he desperately wanted at that moment was sleep, but sleep never usually came easy to him. Especially that night, when all that appeared to Gisborne whenever he closed his eyes was a pair of intriguing blue eyes dancing in front of him, and all that he heard was the words _sans cesse et sans raison _echoing over and over and over, until the first light of day when he, finally, through sheer exhaustion, managed to sleep.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Wench, wanton, harlot and strumpet are all archaic words for prostitute. "Sans cesse et sans raison" is French for "ceaselessly and without reason." Make of that what you will.


End file.
